The Riddle of the Sands, by Erskine Childers

Epilogue

It is a copy (in cipher) of a confidential memorandum to the German Government embodying a scheme for the invasion
of England by Germany. It is unsigned, but internal evidence, and the fact that it was taken by Mr ‘Carruthers’ from
the stove of the villa at Norderney, leave no doubt as to its authorship. For many reasons it is out of the question to
print the textual translation of it, as deciphered; but I propose to give an outline of its contents.

Even this must strain discretion to its uttermost limits, and had I only to consider the instructed few who follow
the trend of professional opinion on such subjects, I should leave the foregoing narrative to speak for itself. But, as
was stated in the preface, our primary purpose is to reach everyone; and there may be many who, in spite of able and
authoritative warnings frequently uttered since these events occurred, are still prone to treat the German danger as an
idle ‘bogey’, and may be disposed, in this case, to imagine that a baseless romance has been foisted on them.

A few persons (English as well as German) hold that Germany is strong enough now to meet us single-handed, and throw
an army on our shores. The memorandum rejects this view, deferring isolated action for at least a decade; and
supposing, for present purposes, a coalition of three Powers against Great Britain. And subsequent researches through
the usual channels place it beyond dispute that this condition was relied on by the German Government in adopting the
scheme. They realized that even if, owing to our widely scattered forces, they gained that temporary command of the
North Sea which would be essential for a successful landing, they would inevitably lose it when our standing fleets
were concentrated and our reserve ships mobilized. With its sea-communications cut, the prospects of the invading army
would be too dubious. I state it in that mild way, for it seems not to have been held that failure was absolutely
certain; and rightly, I think, in spite of the dogmas of the strategists — for the ease transcends all experience. No
man can calculate the effect on our delicate economic fabric of a well-timed, well-planned blow at the industrial heart
of the kingdom, the great northern and midland towns, with their teeming populations of peaceful wage-earners. In this
instance, however, joint action (the occasion for which is perhaps not difficult to guess) was distinctly contemplated,
and Germany’s rôle in the coalition was exclusively that of invader. Her fleet was to be kept intact, and she
herself to remain ostensibly neutral until the first shock was over, and our own battle-fleets either beaten, or, the
much more likely event, so crippled by a hard-won victory as to be incapable of withstanding compact and unscathed
forces. Then, holding the balance of power, she would strike. And the blow? It was not till I read this memorandum that
I grasped the full merits of that daring scheme, under which every advantage, moral, material, and geographical,
possessed by Germany, is utilized to the utmost, and every disadvantage of our own turned to account against us.

Two root principles pervade it: perfect organization; perfect secrecy. Under the first head come some general
considerations. The writer (who is intimately conversant with conditions on both sides of the North Sea) argued that
Germany is preeminently fitted to undertake an invasion of Great Britain. She has a great army (a mere fraction of
which would suffice) in a state of high efficiency, but a useless weapon, as against us, unless transported over seas.
She has a peculiar genius for organization, not only in elaborating minute detail, but in the grasp of a coherent
whole. She knows the art of giving a brain to a machine, of transmitting power to the uttermost cog-wheel, and at the
same time of concentrating responsibility in a supreme centre. She has a small navy, but very effective for its
purpose, built, trained, and manned on methodical principles, for defined ends, and backed by an inexhaustible reserve
of men from her maritime conscription. She studies and practises cooperation between her army and navy. Her hands are
free for offence in home waters, since she has no distant network of coveted colonies and dependencies on which to
dissipate her defensive energies. Finally, she is, compared with ourselves, economically independent, having commercial
access through her land frontiers to the whole of Europe. She has little to lose and much to gain.

The writer pauses here to contrast our own situation, and I summarize his points. We have a small army, dispersed
over the whole globe, and administered on a gravely defective system. We have no settled theory of national defence,
and no competent authority whose business it is to give us one. The matter is still at the stage of civilian
controversy. Co-operation between the army and navy is not studied and practised; much less do there exist any plans,
worthy of the name, for the repulse of an invasion, or any readiness worth considering for the prompt equipment and
direction of our home forces to meet a sudden emergency. We have a great and, in many respects, a magnificent navy, but
not great enough for the interests it insures, and with equally defective institutions; not built or manned
methodically, having an utterly inadequate reserve of men, all classes of which would be absorbed at the very outset,
without a vestige of preparation for the enrolment of volunteers; distracted by the multiplicity of its functions in
guarding our colossal empire and commerce, and conspicuously lacking a brain, not merely for the smooth control of its
own unwieldy mechanism, but for the study of rival aims and systems. We have no North Sea naval base, no North Sea
Fleet, and no North Sea policy. Lastly, we stand in a highly dangerous economical position.

The writer then deals with the method of invasion, and rejects the obvious one at once, that of sending forth a
fleet of transports from one or more of the North Sea ports. He combats especially the idea of making Emden (the
nearest to our shores) the port of departure. I mention this because, since his own scheme was adopted, it is
instructive to note that Emden had been used (with caution) as a red herring by the inspired German press, when the
subject was mentioned at all, and industriously dragged across the trail. His objections to the North Sea ports apply,
he remarks, in reality to all schemes of invasion, whether the conditions be favourable or not. One is that secrecy is
rendered impossible — and secrecy is vital. The collection of the transports would be known in England weeks before the
hour was ripe for striking; for all large ports are cosmopolitan and swarm with potential spies. In Germany’s case,
moreover, suitable ships are none too plentiful, and the number required would entail a large deduction from her
mercantile marine. The other reason concerns the actual landing. This must take place on an open part of the east coast
of England. No other objective is even considered. Now the difficulty of transshipping and landing troops by boats from
transports anchored in deep water, in a safe, swift, and orderly fashion, on an open beach, is enormous. The most
hastily improvised resistance might cause a humiliating disaster. Yet the first stage is the most important of all. It
is imperative that the invaders should seize and promptly intrench a prearranged line of country, to serve as an
initial base. This once done, they can use other resources; they can bring up transports, land cavalry and heavy guns,
pour in stores, and advance. But unless this is done, they are impotent, be their sea-communications never so
secure.

The only logical alternative is then propounded: to despatch an army of infantry with the lightest type of
field-guns in big sea-going lighters, towed by powerful but shallow-draught tugs, under escort of a powerful composite
squadron of warships; and to fling the flotilla, at high tide, if possible, straight upon the shore.

Such an expedition could be prepared in absolute secrecy, by turning to account the natural features of the German
coast. No great port was to be concerned in any way. All that was required was sufficient depth of water to float the
lighters and tugs; and this is supplied by seven insignificant streams, issuing from the Frisian littoral, and already
furnished with small harbours and sluice-gates, with one exception, namely, the tidal creek at Norden; for this, it
appeared, was one of the chosen seven, and not, as ‘Carruthers’ supposed, Hilgenriedersiel, which, if you remember, he
had no time to visit, and which has, in fact, no stream of any value at all, and no harbour. All of these streams would
have to be improved, deepened, and generally canalized; ostensibly with a commercial end, for purposes of traffic with
the islands, which are growing health resorts during a limited summer season.

The whole expedition would be organized under seven distinct sub-divisions — not too great a number in view of its
cumbrous character. Seawards, the whole of the coast is veiled by the fringe of islands and the zone of shoals.
Landwards, the loop of railway round the Frisian peninsula would form the line of communication in rear of the seven
streams. Esens was to be the local centre of administration when the scheme grew to maturity, but not till then. Every
detail for the movement of troops under the seven different heads was to be arranged for with secrecy and exactitude
many months in advance, and from headquarters at Berlin. It was not expected that nothing would leak out, but care was
to be taken that anything that did do so should be attributed to defensive measures — a standing feature in German
mobilization being the establishment of a corps of observation along the Frisian coast; in fact, the same machinery was
to be used, and its conversion for offence concealed up to the latest possible moment. The same precautions were to be
taken in the preliminary work on the spot. There, four men only (it was calculated) need be in full possession of the
secret. One was to represent the Imperial Navy (a post filled by our friend von Brüning). Another (Böhme) was to
superintend the six canals and the construction of the lighters. The functions of the third were twofold. He was to
organize what I may call the local labour — that is, the helpers required for embarkation, the crews of the tugs, and,
most important of all, the service of pilots for the navigation of the seven flotillas through the corresponding
channels to the open sea. He must be a local man, thoroughly acquainted with the coast, of a social standing not much
above the average of villagers and fishermen, and he must be ready when the time was ripe with lists of the right men
for the right duties, lists to which the conscription authorities could when required, give instant legal effect. His
other function was to police the coast for spies, and to report anything suspicious to von Brüning, who would never be
far away. On the whole I think that they found the grim Grimm a jewel for their purpose.

As fourth personage, the writer designates himself, the promoter of the scheme, the indispensable link between the
two nations. He undertakes to furnish reliable information as to the disposition of troops in England, as to the
hydrography of the coast selected for the landing, as to the supplies available in its vicinity, and the strategic
points to be seized. He proposes to be guide-inchief to the expedition during transit. And in the meantime (when not
otherwise employed) he was to reside at Norderney, in close touch with the other three, and controlling the commercial
undertakings which were to throw dust in the eyes of the curious. [Memmert, by the way, is not mentioned in this
memorandum.]

He speaks of the place ‘selected for the landing’, and proceeds to consider this question in detail. I cannot follow
him in his review, deeply interesting though it is, and shall say at once that he reduces possible landing-places to
two, the flats on the Essex coast between Foulness and Brightlingsea, and the Wash — with a decided preference for the
latter. Assuming that the enemy, if they got wind of an invasion at all, would expect transports to be employed, he
chooses the sort of spot which they would be least likely to defend, and which, nevertheless, was suitable to the
character of the flotillas, and similar to the region they started from. There is such a spot on the Lincolnshire
coast, on the north side of the Wash, [See Map A] known as
East Holland. It is low-lying land, dyked against the sea, and bordered like Frisia with sand-flats which dry off at
low water. It is easy of access from the east, by way of Boston Deeps, a deep-water channel formed by a detached bank,
called the Long Sand, lying parallel to the shore for ten miles. This bank makes a natural breakwater against the swell
from the east (the only quarter to be feared); and the Deeps behind it, where there is an average depth of thirty-four
feet at low-water, would form an excellent roadstead for the covering squadron, whose guns would command the shore
within easy range. It is noted in passing that this is just the case where German first-class battleships would have an
advantage over British ships of the same calibre. The latter are of just too heavy a draught to navigate such waters
without peril, if, indeed, they could enter this roadstead at all, for there is a bar at the mouth of it with only
thirty-one feet at high water, spring tides. The former, built as they were with a view to manoeuvring in the North
Sea, are just within the margin of safety. East Holland is within easy striking distance of the manufacturing
districts, a vigorous raid on which is, the writer urges, the true policy of an invader. He reports positively that
there exist (in a proper military sense) no preparations whatever to meet such an attack. East Holland is also the
nearest point on the British shores to Germany, excepting the coast of Norfolk; much nearer, indeed, than the Essex
flats alluded to, and reached by a simple deep-sea passage, without any dangerous region to navigate, like the mouth of
the Channel and the estuary of the Thames from Harwich westwards. The distance is 240 sea-miles, west by south roughly,
from Borkum Island, and 280 from Wangeroog. The time estimated for transit after the flotillas had been assembled
outside the islands is from thirty to thirty-four hours.

Embarkation is the next topic. This could and must be effected in one tide. At the six siels there was a
mean period of two and a half hours in every twelve, during which the water was high enough. At Norden a rather longer
time was available. But this should be amply sufficient if the machinery were in good working order and were punctually
set in motion. High water occurs approximately at the same time at all seven outlets, the difference between the two
farthest apart, Carolinensiel and Greetsiel, being only half an hour.

Lastly, the special risks attendant on such an expedition are dispassionately weighed. X— though keenly anxious to
recommend his scheme, writes in no blindly sanguine spirit. There are no modern precedents for any invasion in the
least degree comparable to that of England by Germany. Any such attempt will be a hazardous experiment. But he argues
that the advantages of his method outweigh the risks, and that most of the risks themselves would attach equally to any
other method. Whatever skill in prediction was used, bad weather might overtake the expedition. Yes; but if transports
were used transhipment into boats for landing would in bad weather be fraught with the same and a greater peril. But
transports could stand off and wait. Delay is fatal in any case; unswerving promptitude is the essence of such an
enterprise. The lighters would be in danger of foundering? Beside the point; if the end is worth gaining the risks must
be faced. Soldiers’ lives are sacrificed in tens of thousands on battlefields. The flotilla would be demoralized during
transit by the assault of a few torpedo-boats? Granted; but the same would apply to a fleet of transports, with the
added certainty that one lucky shot would send to the bottom ten times the number of soldiers, with less hope of
rescue. In both cases reliance must be placed on the efficiency and vigilance of the escort. It is admitted, however,
in a passage which might well make my two adventurers glow with triumph, that if by any mischance the British
discovered what was afoot in good time, and were able to send over a swarm of light-draught boats, which could elude
the German warships and get amongst the flotillas while they were still in process of leaving the siels; it is admitted
that in that case the expedition was doomed. But it is held that such an event was not to be feared. Reckless pluck is
abundant in the British Navy, but expert knowledge of the tides and shoals in these waters is utterly lacking. The
British charts are of no value, and there is no evidence (he reports) that the subject has been studied in any way by
the British Admiralty. Let me remark here, that I believe Mr ‘Davies’s’ views, as expressed in the earlier chapters,
when they were still among the great estuaries, are all absolutely sound. The ‘channel theory’, though it only bore
indirectly on the grand issue before them, was true, and should be laid to heart, or I should not have wasted space on
it.

One word more, in conclusion. There is an axiom, much in fashion now, that there is no fear of an invasion of the
British Isles, because if we lose command of the sea, we can be starved — a cheaper and surer way of reducing us to
submission. It is a loose, valueless axiom, but by sheer repetition it is becoming an article of faith. It implies that
‘command of the sea’ is a thing to be won or lost definitely; that we may have it today and lose it for ever tomorrow.
On the contrary, the chances are that in anything like an even struggle the command of the sea will hang in the balance
for an indefinite time. And even against great odds, it would probably be impossible for our enemies so to bar the
avenues of our commerce, so to blockade the ports of our extensive coast-line, and so to overcome the interest which
neutrals will have in supplying us, as to bring us to our knees in less than two years, during which time we can be
recuperating and rebuilding from our unique internal resources, and endeavouring to regain command.

No; the better axiom is that nothing short of a successful invasion could finally compel us to make peace. Our
hearts are stout, we hope; but facts are facts; and a successful raid, such as that here sketched, if you will think
out its consequences, must appal the stoutest heart. It was checkmated, but others may be conceived. In any case, we
know the way in which they look at these things in Germany.